Poetry Collection #1: “Goodbye Windmills” and “Boxes”

I wasn’t born there, I didn’t spend my adult life there, either.I was only three years old, just a sapling, When my parents moved to the city of the oppressive sun.They planted me in the ground underneath the silent orange behemoth.When I did grow, I wouldn’t become a desert flower,Or a great tree.The parched land would assure I grow into a cactus.Adorned with thick skin and thorns,I couldn’t get close to people.Exhibiting a quiet stillness,And a reckless regard of others strife,The cactus became the desert.This cactus now leaves the cities guarded by windmills.The teetering, turning wind towers power unknown places,Most of which I’ll never see.Farewell warmth, Goodbye windmills, The child of the California Ra needs to uproot to grow.

Boxes

I’m surrounded by fucking boxes;You know the shitty, brown, cheap, packing kind.It reminded me of a childhood thought.“I’ve never been delighted in owning a lot”In adulthood, I can afford all I’ve ever wanted.So now I’m enveloped by crap I never needed.They don’t make me happy.It’s quite the opposite.As I own less, I become overjoyed. Possessions are a burdenand only clutter.I strive for a life free of litterBut I am also a simple man.Prone to buy without thinking,Without regard to myself. So, I am caught in the balance,Wanting to have nothing but having everything I want.

The cactus metaphor hit me right in the heart. I just moved to the Valley of the Surface of the Sun and am finding myself very…rootless. Branchless. Missing my beloved snow-capped mountains and annoyed at the prickles I’ve already started to grow here.